


Nightmares from the past

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Rescue, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:28:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Illya goes in search of his partner who disappeared after attending his high school class reunion.





	

  


 

“Crunch, snap, crunch-crunch.”

Bits of broken glass cracked beneath Illya Kuryakin’s feet. He was moving cautiously, trying to be quiet but there was just too much trash scattered around this abandoned factory.

In his hand was his gun, the safety off and ready to fire if needed.

He daren’t call out, lest he be heard by the wrong ears. His tracker in his communicator had led him here and that's all he had to go on to locate his missing partner. He'd gone to a high school reunion over the weekend and never returned home, or reported to headquarters on Monday.

Some time ago Illya had planted a miniature homing disc beneath the star sapphire stone in Napoleon’s pinky ring; it was a small gift, an assurance that he’d always be able to find his partner and watch his back.

Right now it was coming in handy as Napoleon was here somewhere in this decrepit building,

IIlya turned down a flight of stairs, they’d obviously been cleared and he took them, descending into darkness.

A steel door peeling with its once red paint opened easily with a single push; thankfully there was no creak revealing the Russian’s presence. Slowly he moved forward, forced to use a small flashlight to guide his way.

The Russian didn’t frighten easily, but he could feel the bile rising in his throat. The damp mildew filled his nostrils,  but then another smell assaulted him, it was the smell of death in the air.

“Please let it not be Napoleon?” He whispered to himself.  
  


 

As he continued on the smell became overwhelming. This time the putrid odor transported the Russian back to his childhood memories and the time he’d spend in a concentration camp. There he was surrounded by death on an enormous scale.

He gagged, losing it, and vomited. Grabbing his handkerchief, he tied it over his face...not that it would help that much with the smell. As he continued moving, willing himself to ignore the stench, he discovered the source of it. As he shined the flashlight in through a door that was ajar, he fought to not make a sound

Hanging from several hooks were a number of bodies, in varying states of decay. Everyone of them had been flayed. Their skin had been removed with what looked like near surgical precision.

He staggered back in horror; leaving the room. Illya knew Napoleon wasn’t among them, as the homing signal would have been giving off a continuous signal.

Another room revealed more victims...this time several women, all brutalized the same way. There had to be over a dozen of them.

“What sort of mad man could do this?” Illya whispered to himself. His thoughts went instantly to the image of Nazis who haunted his dreams. “No this cannot be?”  
In in memory it was they who were capable of such things, so it was understandable for his mind to go there…

The signal on his communicator held steady. Napoleon was somewhere nearby, hopefully alive and intact; though Illya rationalized if he took too long to find him, his friend and partner might be killed like the others.  


Napoleon moaned as he woke. Finding himself stripped naked and hanging by his wrists from a meathook.

“Ahhh you’ve finally rejoined me, welcome to the party,” a voice spoke from the shadows.

“Gee, thanks for the welcome. Might I know who my host is...and by the way, where are my clothes?”

“Oh it’s a party for you Napoleon Solo.”

It suddenly hit him, that voice, he recognized it as one from his past. How was this possible? He’d been sent to a lunatic asylum long ago?

“Corvus Crowe?”

“I’m impressed you remembered me Napoleon?”

A handsome dark-haired man stepped into the light. He was dressed in a grey suit with a red tie, though he was wearing a pair of black rubber gloves and a matching black apron...the kind an undertaker would wear.

“How is it you’re free?”Napoleon calmly asked. “You were sent to Matteawan State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, for life as I recall?”

“Ahh yes, lovely Matteawan, the ‘colony farm’ to which it was referred. There it was agricultural training for rehabilitation yet that method was finally deemed irrelevant. It was decided that farming would be deemphasized. The dear superintendent opted for patients being given outdoor exercise in the courtyards twice daily and motion pictures shown weekly. Radios and phonographs were available on the wards. Patients played softball, tennis, bowling, handball, shuffleboard, volleyball, chess, checkers, cards, gymnastics, ping pong and [quoits](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quoits)."  
  
"They brought in entertainment, choirs, actors to perform Shakespeare's plays. During one of these events I merely helped myself to the identity of one of them and ...well I had to strangle him first. I took his clothes and escaped when their group left. The stupid guards only did a headcount,”Corvus laughed. “It was so easy.”

Crowe and Solo been in high school together. Napoleon was probably the most popular guy in school, while Corvus was a loner, his tastes leaned towards the dark, mysterious and gothic. He was shunned by everyone...even the ever friendly Napoleon avoided him like the plague.

It was when Napoleon dated a girl named Wendy Beckingham, that made Corvus snap. He murdered her in a fit of rage because she preferred Napoleon over him.

Trouble was, the girl never wanted anything to do with Crowe, yet in his mind she was his. He was obsessed with her. He murdered several other students, and a teacher. Napoleon would have been next if Corvus hadn't been caught.

At his trial, he was deemed incurably insane and sent to the asylum in Dutchess County, New York.  
  
“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here Napoleon.”  
  
“It had crossed my mind.”  
  
“You see, you’re the last piece of the puzzle."  
  
“And that puzzle would be?”  
  
“Everyone who caused me pain, those who were responsible for me being locked up all these years in that place. I’ve had my revenge on them...the judge, the jury, the prosecutor, the doctor who declared me insane; they’re all dead, except for you. I’ve saved you for last. It was you who took Wendy from me, you who testified against me at my trial. This was all your fault!” Crowe’s voice went up in pitch.

He stepped out of the darkness, hitting a light switch.  
  
Napoleon eyes squinted as he adjusted to the light. The sight that greeted him made him gasp in horror.  
  
Hanging from hooks as well were the bodies of two people...or what was left of them, as they’d had their skin removed.  
  
“You remember Judge Spalding don’t you? And this is Mr. Wallingford the prosecuting attorney.” Crowe reached out, spinning one of the corpses around as it dangled from the ceiling.  
  
What could Napoleon say, call Corvus a madman or plead for mercy. What was the point?  
  
Crowe picked up a carving knives from a nearby table, and a sharpening stone. He scraped the blade across it over and over again. Stepping to his prisoner, he ran the tip of the blade along Solo’s thigh, but Napoleon gritted his teeth, not making a sound.

  
Corvus suddenly grabbed Napoleon's penis, pulling at it as he raised the knife. “You’ll lose this first, for despoiling my beloved Wendy.”

“I never touched her!”

“Like I’m supposed to believe that! You’d say anything to save your pecker. You fucked every girl in school, didn’t you?”  
  
“Corvus, you’ve got it all wrong. I didn’t. I may have slept with a few of them but that’s it. I never did with Wendy. We only went out once to the Spring Dance.”  
  
Crowe released Napoleon’s member and stepped back  
  
“Liar!”  
  
“Corvus, you need to stop this. You’re sick and need help.”  
  
“Ha! You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know. I like who I am, I like the power I can have over others, being responsible for their living or dying. Though in the end they all died. They got what they deserved. It felt good killing them, but it’s going to feel the best killing you Napoleon. You ruined my life, and you’re going to pay! It’ll be slow for you, very slow so you’ll suffer a long time, that I promise you.”  
  
This time Corvus ran the point of the blade across Solo’s chest, a long, slow shallow slice. Rivulets of blood ran down Napoleon’s stomach. He lowered his head, concentration on not making a sound but when he looked up past Crowe to a welcome sight.  
  
Illya placed his finger to his lips, telling his partner to be silent. Napoleon was alive, though he was covered in blood that seemed to be the worst of it.

As Kuryakin took a step towards Napoleon’s captor a piece of glass crunched beneath his foot.  
  
Corvin spun, diving at the Russian, wrestling him backwards. The man had incredible strength and Illya’s weapon was knocked from his hand, sending it flying across the room.  
  
Napoleon watched helplessly as the two men grappled until he saw Illya jerk, his eyes opened wide with surprise. He staggered back, having been stabbed in the stomach. Illya hit the wall, slowly sinking to the filthy floor.  
  
“Ah, a would be rescuer. I wonder how he found you?”  
  
“Haven’t a clue, as I don’t know who he is.”  
  
“His mistake then. Maybe I’ll have you watch me flay him next. That way you’ll know every little step of what's store for you.”  
  
Illya had momentarily passed out, and when he came to he reached for his Special that was on the floor just within his reach.  
  
He raised it, cocking it and that got Crowe’s immediate attention. Rather than attacking, he ran out the door.  
  
Kuryakin pulled himself up, staggering after Corvus.  
  
“Napoleon I will be back, I promise.”  
  
Illya could hear the footsteps in the darkness ahead of him and followed the man...taking a flight of stairs but not the same ones that had brought the Russian into this hell hole.

They were up inside the building now, and holding his hand to his bloody side, Illya was relentless.  
  
Finally they reached the roof, and he shouted at Crowe.

“It ends here! Surrender.” Illya raised his gun, aiming it at Corvus while keeping pressure on his bloody wound with his other hand.  
  
"Who are you?" Crowe demanded.  
  
"Perhaps your worst nightmare," Illya sneered. I am a friend of Napoleon Solo's. Are you going to surrender or must I resort to force? You can not surprise me this time."  
  
“No, you won’t take me!” Crowe eyed the gun as he stepped back, too close to the roof’s parapet. He hit it and toppled backwards, his arms windmilling to save himself.  
  
He went over the edge, and Illya immediately went to look...he couldn’t not look.  
  
Crowe hadn’t dropped, he was dangling there, holding on by one hand.  
  
“Help me!” He cried out.”I know I did wrong, I need help. I’m crazy...I know I need a doctor!”  
  
“You are beyond help,” Illya snarled.  
  
He slammed the butt of his Special on Crowe’s hand, not once but twice, and watched as the man fell to his death, screaming as he dropped like a lead sinker to the ground.  
  
Illya shook his head, knowing what he’d done was right, though it was ethically wrong.  
  
“Madmen like this do not deserve to live,” he muttered to himself. His Soviet training, that calculated coldness had been released, just this one time. This was for all those innocents the man had killed, and for nearly killing Napoleon as well. He supposed the feelings that had arisen within him were a release for what lie buried for Illya’s loved ones murdered during the war.  
  
He took a deep breath, banishing those feelings, and sending that cold killer instinct back were it belonged, locked away where no one would see it.  
  
He returned to his partner, helping him down from the hook, and cradling Napoleon in his arms for a moment.  
  
“Where is he...Corvus Crowe?” Napoleon asked.  
  
“That is his name? I am afraied he is dead, having fallen off the rooftop.” He wasn't going to tell Napoleon what he'd done. It was a secret to be kept, from him and UNCLE.  
  
Napoleon looked to the blood from Illya's belly wound. “We need to take care of that tovarisch.” He finally freed himself from the Russian’s grip.

There was a pile of clean sheets on a nearby table and Napoleon quickly ripped and folded them, wrapping them around Illya’s abdomen. Once that was done, he dressed in his clothes that were laying on the floor. His own wounds weren't that serious, and for some reason he didn't care that his blood seeped into his silk shirt.  
  
Illya was feeling light headed and handed his communicator to his partner.  
  
“We need to call for help.”  
  
“Good idea. Hey, how did you find me?”  
  
“Your ring...the homing disc beneath the stone."  
  
“I forgot all about it, thanks again for that gift Illya.”  
  
“Mmm, it is the gift that keeps on giving,” Kuryakin half-smiled before he finally passed out.  
  
An emergency medical team, as well as a cleanup crew arrived in record time, whisking Solo and Kuryakin off to a hospital.  
  
Napoleon required but a few stitches and reported to Mr. Waverly at headquarters back in the city, once Illya was deemed out of the woods.  


“What the devil was this all about,” the Old Man huffed.  
  
“It’s a long story sir, sort of dating back to when I was in high school." Napoleon didn't sound like his usual reserved self.  
  
Waverly calmly reached for his pipe and humidor. He refilled it the bowl and lit up. Reaching for the intercom, he flicked the toggle switch.  
  
“Miss Rogers, a carafe of strong coffee for Mr. Solo, and a pot of tea for myself, Assam black tea, if you please?”

  
“Yes sir, right away.”  
  
“We’ll wait for the coffee and tea to arrive before you begin your tale young man…”

 


End file.
